


The end of the hunt

by TheCrimsonValley



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonValley/pseuds/TheCrimsonValley
Summary: While coming to his companions aid during the last hunt, Henryk has hopes of both of them escaping the seemingly endless night.





	The end of the hunt

The scent of blood. It had been a constant companion for years, one that he had grown accustomed to yet now found repulsive. The fragrance of it, mixing up together with the reeking of burnt fur was now enough to make his gut turn. Hastening over the stone bridge, Henryk tugged the cloth up closer towards his nose, trying in vain to shut all those impressions out. 

Hanging heavy in the skies, the bright moon shined before him, lighting a path towards his end goal. Inside of his mind the thoughts were hammering, as if tiny voices were shouting over one another, creating nothing but chaos. It had been what had driven him off his own hunter path, what had made him seek out the person he knew did not belong on the streets this night. 

Both Viola and the girls had tried, that he knew but he had been informed that neither begging nor demanding had any effect on Gascoigne. The hunt was on, he was going. While the mountain of a man often bent to his family's wishes, this had been a point in which he had seemingly been impossible. 

All of this, Henryk had been aware of. Their companionship had lasted for many years, many hunts and been so much more than camaraderie. Yet his pleadings for the other man to stay off the streets of Yharnam had also fallen on deaf ears. And he could do little more than curse himself for it. If he had only tried one more time, if he had explained what seemed to be at stake. Would Gascoigne's heart have changed had he been made aware that they could all see the gleam in his eyes, the growl that sometimes overpowered his voice. 

But he had not. This hunt they had been separated, a demand from his companion's side. Covering more area. The mere thought made Henryk give out a low grumbling as he climbed the staircase. It had been nothing but a bollocks reason to be separated and, while he had tried to ignore it, his reason had finally won. Gascoigne was as aware as any of them. Their hunt on the opposite parts of the town was nothing more than a security measure, for how was the massive hunter to bring him any harm if they were not found on the same battlefield. 

A stillness laid over the staircase leading up towards the tomb of Oedon. The only thing that broke the stillness was the sickly sweet smell of blood. For a short moment Henryk stopped his steps. His pulse echoed heavily in his ears, drowning out all other noises. In the cold night air, his breath turned into steam, his chest heaving a few times as he tried to still his beating heart. 

Of course he knew what needed to be done would his companion have turned, it was by now old news. Hunters of hunters did their part yet there were times when people like himself would have to put their blades to fellow hunters. Yet the cleaver in his hand seemed to weigh so much heavier as the thought passed through his mind. 

This was not any old hunter. Not some blood crazed youngster or a veteran too tired to fight back. This was Gascoigne. Viola's darling husband, the father of two bright young girls and the only companion he had ever needed. A man who he had shared the most tender of moments with, whose every gesture he knew down to detail. 

Giving an angry growl, he stomped his foot into the ground, the echoing of it being enough to draw him out of his own mind. For every second he wasted standing about, things were going to turn worse, his odds falling far below where they had initially been. With a spring in his step, he dashed up the stairs, fully aware that he would need to act accordingly once he could assess everything.

The graveyard laid basked in the moonlight, creating an almost dreamlike scene as he stepped among the graves. Henryk's eyes were already locked onto the large figure that stood half hunched over a slain beast. Gascoigne could never hide, not in a convenient way and he almost had a witty comment about it roll of his tongue when he reminded himself that this were not the time. 

Opening his lips, he found his voice not obeying. All the words he had rehearsed on his sprint over, all the comfort he wished to offer had run dry and scattered for the wind. Trying once more, all that left his lips was a strange croaking sound, one so ill fitting to a man of his own stature. 

Gascoigne turned, his hand still remaining firmly grasping his axe. Somewhere, hidden behind the bandages, Henryk got the sense that his companion was eyeing him. As the massive man took a few lumbering steps over towards him, his own legs refused to obey. Running was his greatest trick yet now it was as if the ground itself had latched onto his legs, keeping him firmly in place. 

As his dear companion drew closer the fragrance of blood grew stronger, dulling his senses even further. With his heart gripped in fear he watched how Gascoigne's lips curled back, the large corner teeth laying barren onto his lower lip, his heaving breath turning into a massive steam cloud. While Henryk's body begged him to run, his mind remained clinging onto the man that was approaching him, moving with the same grace of an ox that had just been awoken. 

First when Gascoigne was so close that one leap would have been enough for them to be face to face did Henryk's voice once more obeyed. With his arms hanging passively at his sides, the saw blade almost slipping form his hand, he tried to lock eyes with the other man. 

“Gascoigne...” 

A snarl, one which almost brought tears to his eyes. He had to but he couldn't. His duty as a hunter demanded it, to keep everyone safe yet his selfish desires stopped him. It was simply impossible, he could not lay a finger onto the other man. 

“Gascoigne...” he tried once more, his voice quivering. 

With a heavy heart he watched the other man's fingers grasp the axe more firmly, a gesture which made him close his eyes. He did not wish to see it coming. So many times he had imagined how his ending would come to him yet this was one he had never accounted for. With all his senses on high alert, a peace seemed to claim him, a passing thought telling him that soon it would all be over. 

“... Henryk...” 

It took a second repeating of his name until he dared opening his eyes again and even longer for his mind to accept that he was still breathing and unharmed. Gascoigne was standing before him, his posture telling of confusion and exhaustion, the man moving his head from side to side as if to make sure that there were no beasts around to attack them. 

“When did you...” 

His companion's tone remained as distant as before, as if in a dream like state. Henryk wasted no time, quickly moving in the last half step and grasping the other man's massive hand in his. A sense of great relief flew over him. If there were any of those gods out there, he had been given the blessing of a second chance. 

“We need to head home” he urged, tugging all so gently at Gascoigne's arm “everyone's waiting.” 

“...Everyone...” 

The answer of his companion was spoken on the same slurred tone as that of a drunkard. Trying to gently steer him once more, Henryk felt resistance in the other man's body. A sense of frustration seemed to slowly creep through his own mind. They needed to move, that much was clear yet there were no possibility of him moving the other man by force. 

“...Viola...” Gascoigne muttered, the lines raspy. 

“Yes, Viola is waiting, she's worried sick for you.” 

“No...” 

Though he could tell that his companion wished to utter the answer on a harsh tone, it came out as little more than a low whisper. Grinding his teeth together, Henryk fumbled for a response when he caught sight of where Gascoigne's eyes were trailing of. In an almost mesmerised manner he let his own glance follow until they were both fixed onto the same point. 

The taste of bile came back with full force, almost causing him to bend over. It was still too far away to make it out clearly but the bright red broach. The damned blood red shimmering jewel. The soft dripping of blood from the roof of the mausoleum. A numbness crept through him, stinging like a thousand needles against his skin. 

“That's not her.” 

Lying never came naturally to him yet this time his voice managed to hold it up. Though his thoughts screeched at him, asking how he could possibly utter such a sentence, his eyes simply locked onto Gascoigne, a sense of relief grasping his heart as his companion turned away from the sight. 

“She's waiting just by the bridge for us” Henryk continued, once more tugging at the man's hand “she's worried sick for you.” 

His heart soared as he saw the massive hunter by his side take a few weary steps towards the staircase. Quickly he ushered Gascoigne along, trying to retain eye contact. He cared little if the other man would hate him once the night of the hunt was done, all that mattered now was that he got him back home to the children. Nothing else mattered than that. 

The sound of steps caught them both off guard, halting them in their tracks. The all too familiar screeches of beasts and the sickening sound of steel tearing through flesh made Henryk's hair stand on edge. Those were the sound of another hunter, one approaching fast and with efficiency. 

Spinning around quickly, he gave out a light yelp of surprise as he felt Gascoigne grasp him. Though at first he wished to utter a sentence, one of his companion's hands soon covered his mouth while dragging him along further in among the graves. In a fit of panic, he flung his hands up, trying to wrestle loose from the other man's grip yet only being rewarded with the massive hunter growling out a “be quiet Henryk!”. 

Time itself seemed to unfold in a strange haze, slowing down yet not leaving him any room to act. Before he could even grasp the fact that he had been let loose from the death grip of his companion, he had unceremoniously been shoved into the dark corners of the mausoleum, his head meeting with the wall, leaving him in complete disorientation. 

Trying to steady his eyes, Henryk locked them onto the small door. Once more he thought he could see Gascoigne lock eyes with him. Feebly he tried to muster up the energy to move yet finding his body unable to full fill his wish. Only one of his arms obeyed in the end, stretching forward towards his companion, his eyes pleading to be held, to not be abandoned among the tightly shut caskets of those long past.

“...I'll return soon...” 

The very same croaking he had made before was the only thing he could utter as he tried to throw himself towards the door. It shut long before he made his way to it and even though he tried to put his entire weight onto it it did not seem to budge even one millimetre. Feeling how the darkness around him seemed to close in, making the already limited space if possible even smaller, Henryk gave out a primal cry. 

“Gascoigne! Let me out!” 

Hammering his fists towards the door he could feel his breath growing more rapid for every passing second. Quickly turning, his eyes trying to get used to the darkness while the stinging sensation of tears tore through them, he started to slam his body repeatedly towards the door. 

A slimmer of moonlight soon fell in, enough to make him gasp for breath as if he had been a man starved from oxygen. While there for a moment came relief over his panicked mind, his senses soon became aware of the sickening and yet so familiar noises of fighting. The fight between two hunters, the smell of gunpowder hanging like mist in the air. 

Henryk screeched, worse than any beast he had ever encountered yet there came no answers. Drowned bellow the sounds of the battle he could do little more than throw himself against the door, feeling it not bending to his will. Soon enough his own voice became hoarse, rendered nothing but a pathetic croaking that quickly got overpowered by the loud roars of a beast unleashed. 

The last shred of hope leaving his mind, he closed his eyes, cold tears slipping down his cheeks. When the silence fell, when the smell of blood and fur was once more overpowering his very being, he did not even attempt to shout for the victorious hunter to set him free.

For all of his hunts, he had danced on a razor's edge between the massive losses and the slippage of sanity and as the deafening silence claimed the tomb, Henryk finally gave into both.


End file.
